


(and at last they were) victor(ious)

by Will_I_Ever_Make_A_Sound



Category: Vicious - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Gen, Maybe multichaptered?, Victor is messed up and I love him, again there's way too many puns, i love name puns ok, low key sociopath gets confronted with emotional things, this is kind of a character study?, what am I even doing, with headcanons built in?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 07:04:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15702258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Will_I_Ever_Make_A_Sound/pseuds/Will_I_Ever_Make_A_Sound
Summary: Even a sociopath has feelings.





	(and at last they were) victor(ious)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to heroic for inspiring me to write more about Vicious.  
> Anways, Victors family is crap, Eli and Victor and kind of more than friends, and a book signing ball with some strange references to the future goes wrong

The ball room glittered, waves of finely dressed men and women crescendoing to the beat of the orchestra.  
To Victor, from his position high up on the balcony, they looked rather like a sea of jelly-fish, or something equally unimpressive. He held a glass of strawberry champagne loosely in one hand, and he swirled it idly, scanning the crowd of white ruffled dresses and slim-cut cream suits for a familiar sight. It was only when a lone figure, dressed in black, entered the hall from the French doors that he smiled and moved, setting his glass down on a passing waiters tray and heading down the red carpeted stairs. The new person, brown hair slicked back and tuxedo without a speck of dust, stood out like an elegantly dressed sore thumb, hovering hesitantly near a bush of red gardenias. Victor, snatching two new glasses of champagne, made his way over to him.  
"Didn't I tell you the dress code was all white?" He said, handing over one of the glasses. The dark haired boy started, then huffed annoyedly. "No, you didn't," he said sourly. "You said 'dress fancy or some s**t’."

Victor shrugged, and adjusted the red pocketsquare before downing his own glass. The other boy stared at him.

"How many of those have you had?" He asked, tone half curious, half accusatory.

Victor closed his eyes, the bright lights of the sparkling chandelier still searing into his head. "Oh, only a half a dozen or so," he said casually. Whether it was the noise, the bright lights, or the booze, he already had a headache.

When he reluctantly opened his eyes again, his friend was staring at him, the picture of motherly concern.

"Vic, come on. It's a ball after all, not a bar."

Something about the statement, or maybe the tone itself, set Victor off.

"It's a corporate ball, Eliot," He said curtly, arms crossing tightly across his chest. The other man winced.

  
“It's not even that,” he continued muttering. “It's a over-glorified party to celebrate a book release.”  
He gestured with one hand at the scarlet banner that read “CONGRATS, VALES! LETS HOPE THIS BOOK IS EXTRAORDINARY!”

Victor, upon hearing the slogan for the first time, had immediately remarked “That's probably the stupidest things I've heard all day.”. In short, he had found it immensely cheesy. Then again, making a book that had “you don't need to be a superhero to be great!” and all sorts of other horrible lines that could be printed out on posters of a cat hanging from a branch in it didn't appeal to Victor.  
There was a great big buffet table full of stacked copies underneath the balcony, and he planned on heading over and taking one later. The more he hated the book, the more fun he'd have blacking it out, and he already had ideas of how to rewrite his parents lies into his own truth.

“I'm sorry,” Eli said quietly, and a twinge of guilt thudded in Victor’s chest.

“Go on,” he reluctantly relented. “Go dance with cute boys and cute girls and charm the gold rings off of the greasy haired producers.”

Eli grinned at him.  
“Don't worry, I’ll bring a ring back for you,” He said, then slipped off into the crowd, leaving Victor wondering if Eli was actually saying he would propose to him or just bantering amiably.

He downed another glass of champagne.

Victor’s stomach was clenched and his heart racing as he checked the his new silver watch. Five minutes till ten. He warily eyed the main doors at the top of the balcony, then glanced back down at his watch again. The minutes seems agonizingly slow, even as couples laughed and danced around him.

It was 2 minutes till ten when a girl approached him.

She had delicate features, a wave of brown curled expertly pinned back, and was wearing a short, fitting white dress that might be considered scandalous by the older guests. She also seemed intrigued by Victor, like a diner looking curiously at a new dish.

“What’re you doing, handsome?” She asked casually, heels clicking as she came closers.  
He looked up, and felt almost repulsed by the pretty girl at his side.

“Waiting for someone to arrive,” He said tersely.

Almost as if on cue, the large wooden doors at the top of the stairs were pushed open, and two figures strolled through, radiating an arrogant confidence that could not be rivaled.  
They split at the stairs, the man going down one and the woman the other. Victor watched both of them, until it became apparent that both were beelining straight to him.  
“Mother, Father,” Victor said stiffly, spine automatically straightening. The woman, dressed in layers of white tulé separated with scarlet pleats that gave the impression of an albino peacock, floated forward.  
“Oh, Victor dear, how lovely to see you,” she said, sugary words rolling easily off her tongue. She hugged him, an awkward affair, then leaned back as the man strutted forward.  
“Victor,” He said, much sharper, without any of the ornamentation.  
“How is Lockland, my little wolf?” His mother pressed, practically purring. Victor flinched a little at the nickname, then gathered his feelings and shoved them deep into the void below his stomach. “Where's your little friend — Eliot, you said his name was?”  
And suddenly, Eli was back in a swish of black tailcoats, Victor's arm in his, and grinning his most dazzling charming grin. The girl, having edged away at the sight of her prospects parents, now realized that she was no competition, and melted back into the crowd,  
“Mr. and Ms. Vale,” He said, executing a near perfect bow. Victor's mother gasped delightedly.  
“Oh, What a charming young man!” She said, suitably impressed. Victor's father, on the other hand, eyed the linked arms before holding out his hand.  
“Arthur Vale, and my wife, Cynthia Vale.”  
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr Vale, and Ms. Vale,” Eli said, the epitome of politeness. Victor frowned at the perfect behavior his friend was exhibiting.  
“Oh, please, call us Arthur and Cynthia,” Victor’s mother said, already wooed by Victor’s companion. Victor scowled. 20 years and he still had to call the Mother and Father, yet Eli knew them for 5 seconds and he got to use their first names. That was the unfairness of Eli Cardale.  
“I'm just so glad Victor has such a good… friend at Lockland,” she continued, obviously hesitating at the word “friend”. Eli bridged the gap with a smile.  
“I'd wish I'd been able to invite my girlfriend Angie along, but Victor said he could only bring one guest,” He said, smoothing over the lag. Victor’s father still eyed their arms, especially the way Victor was clinging to the cuff of Eli’s suit.

“Well, we’ll leave you two boy to whatever you do,” Victor's mother said with a smile, then hooked her husband and floated off to chat with some people near the book signing table.

Victor let out a groan as soon as they were out of earshot.  
“Your parents seem nice,” Eli remarked, still staring after them. Victor looked at him oddly.  
“Did you not hear how they think we’re sleeping together?” He said sarcastically. He rubbed his face. “God, I'm never going to hear the end of it.”

“Don't use the Lord’s name in vain,” Eli said distractedly. Victor groaned again.  
“I need a drink,” he muttered, then headed over to the mini bar, which was so inconveniently located near the book signing table.  
So as Victor slid into one of the stools, sipping at some red fruity concoction, he happened to overhear a bit of a conversation.

“Poor dear, he really should be going to therapy,” his mother was saying sadly to an older man with thinning hair. “We've tried to help him ourselves, but he keeps pushing us away.”  
“We think he's still stuck in the childish phrase of rebellion,” he father added, and Victor, listening in, was curious as to what ‘special patient’ they were talking about now.  
“I mean, he brought in a boy for tonight,” His mother said hushedly. “We think he's still blacking out the copies of the books we give him too.”  
A chill ran up Victor’s spine.  
“We think he’s either got narcissistic personality disorder or has sociopathic tendencies,” his father interrupted. “But it can't be how we raised him-”  
There was a loud crack, and a feeling of wetness and a sharp pain in Victor’s hand. He looked down, dazedly, to see that he had managed to break his glass, and the red drink was spilled all down his white suit. He hand had several long shards of glass in it, and was oozing red as well.  
Everyone in the ballroom stopped and looked at him. He could see a blur of black movement as Eli ran across the floor.  
Still feeling rather dreamlike, Victor grabbed another of the drinks with his uninjured hand and hoisted it in the air.  
“To being extraordinary,” he said dryly, raising it in mock cheer.  
It was silent as he took a sip, the fizzy taste of the champagne mixing bitterly with the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, and want more, please kudos or comment! I'm thinking about taking prompts for this fic for chapter ideas.


End file.
